


Survivor's Guilt

by GrannyBoo



Category: The Phoenix Incident (2015)
Genre: M/M, Post TPI events, Pre-Relationship, alcohol-abuse, poor coping mechanisms, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:23:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrannyBoo/pseuds/GrannyBoo
Summary: “...I need to go over there.”“You need to rest your leg. Its fine, Jake, I’ll go and check on him again.”“Krissy, I want to go over there. For me as much as for him,” his imploring gaze seems to persuade her just enough as she huffs in exasperation and pulls back out of the driveway. “Thank you, Kris.”“Don’t thank me yet.”-Or-Mitch has trouble coping with what happened and Jake wants to help





	1. Chapter 1

He’s alive.

Jake had no idea how they’d managed it; one moment he’d been on a bed, bleeding out in a shack, the brief memory of Mitch’s forehead, sweaty and flush-warm pressed against his, followed by something-big-something- _fast_ ripping him through the boarded window. The next, he was lying in the dirt, a pair of red-stained hands pressed firmly to the wound to stop the bleeding. Familiar hands.

Mitch had never looked smaller that he did at that moment beside him. His jaw clenched and eyes staring at nothing as tears slowly drift down his face while he tried to curl in on himself and still maintain pressure on Jake’s leg.

“Mitch. Mitchell- …buddy, talk to me,” Jake’s voice is hoarse, the dust tickling the back of his dehydration-roughened throat, so he’s forced into a fit of wracking coughs. Mitch jerks, eyes wide and panicked as he looks between Jake’s leg and his face, as though trapped by indecision; whether to keep the bleeding at bay or to try to tend to the painful sounding coughs.

“Jake-…” Mitch’s normally steady baritone is quiet and trembling, full of uncertainty and fear that’s he’s unable to reign in.

“I’m fine. Just-“ he tries to sit up, propping himself up on unsteady elbows. “What happened? Where’re Ryan and Glenn?” Mitch hunches in on himself a little more. Jake hisses as the hands on his leg shift, sending a shot of pain coursing through his body while Mitch shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, too quickly and quietly for Jake to hear properly.

The pain subsides eventually to a dull enough throb that he doesn’t have to speak through a clenched jaw.

“Hey,” he calls. But Mitch doesn’t respond, tears tracking more prominently down his cheeks. Jake reaches out and touches the exposed and bloodied length of Mitch’s forearm. Nothing. Just soft, staggered breathing. Slowly, the darkness surrounding them shifts into a bright light, the twin beams of headlights as a car stops in front of them. Jake’s heart rabbits in his chest, panic tightening its hold on him. Who is it? The military that tried to bomb them? Or someone worse? There’s a metallic thud, a car door slamming and the sound of advancing footsteps that sends Jake into a panic, the only thing keeping him from scrabbling to his feet is the pain and the fierce grip on his leg.

“I-its okay, stay still,” Mitch finally manages, one hand still applying pressure while the other grips the curve of Jake’s hip to keep him down, the firm hold actually steadying Jake’s heartrate at least a little. The figure approaches, silhouetted in the light from the car, coming to knee on the opposite of Mitch. A man in his mid-forties, carrying a white and red case he sets down beside Jake’s calf.

“You’re awake. That’s good. I was walking by and saw you boys just off the road. Your friend said you crashed your ATV,” the man rambles as he unpacks an impressive looking first aid kit. “Lucky it was just the leg, I’ve see a man bent like a pretzel when he whiskeyed into a ditch-“

The words faded into the background as the man helped to patch up Jake’s leg as much as he could, the only reply he got (not that he seemed to need much to keep the conversation going) were just murmurs of acknowledgement.

“I let my wife know where to send the ambulance, shouldn’t be- oh, speak of the devil,” the flashing red and blue of the ambulance and a single police car makes the minor headache lingering in the back of Jake’s head flare into focus, forcing him to close his eyes and Mitch’s hands, which had been missing from his senses after the passerby had started working on his leg, were suddenly tightly wrapped around his hand and cupping his jaw, Mitch’s panicked voice filtering through the sirens.

“Jake-“

“I’m fine. Jus’ my head.”

Mitch goes silent again, but Jake can feel him trembling and he reaches up with his free hand, curling his fingers lightly around the curve of the other man’s elbow. The shaking lessens but not by much.

-

It takes a few days to get squared away with the authorities. A camping trip gone wrong, when their friends separated from them in the night to find help while Mitch stayed behind with the injured Jake.

The search for Ryan and Glenn is on-going but the sympathetic looks from the officers and search and rescue team doesn’t fill Jake with confidence.

The damage to his leg ‘could have been worse. It’ll take some work but you’ll restore most of your mobility in a few months’. Jake doesn’t feel like he needs to ask if he’ll regain full mobility, not with the jagged patchwork-stitching in the meat of his thigh staring at him whenever the bandages are changed.

Mitch doesn’t visit.

Not in the four days he’s trapped in the hospital bed, waiting for the physical therapist to go over his new schedule, for the nurses to give him the pages-long list of care instructions for his leg for when he goes home. Krissy picks him up when he’s finally discharged with a teary hug and a quiet ‘I’m glad you’re okay’. She’d said she hadn’t seen Mitch either, but she’d met with Melissa the day before. She’d come clean about the affair, and Mitch had just told her he knew. He’d known for months and they’d decided it was time to end it.

“I damn near slapped her. No one deserves that, least of all Mitchell,” she murmurs on the drive back to his place.

“She said he knew?” Jake’s voice was raspy with disuse, nods and shakes having become his primary form of communication. Krissy did a small double take at his comment, pulling into the driveway smoothly and putting the car in park.

“Apparently. Says he just told her he knew and that he forgave her. Don’t know why, I sure as shit wouldn’t have in his position, if he even did. Haven’t talked to him long enough to ask,” Krissy busies herself with her purse, digging through it for the keys to the house.

“Has…has no one talked to him?” Jake’s concern gave Krissy pause, peering at him through the curtain of her hair.

“He won’t open his door. I’ve gone and knocked. He answered the first few times. Said he was fine. Coping…” she trails off, uncertain. Jake’s eyebrows raise as he silently prompts her to continue. “He didn’t open the door the last few times I checked in. And this morning he wouldn’t answer at all. I think he’s been drinking. A lot,” her voice is quiet and she refuses to meet Jake’s gaze. His jaw clenches.

“That fucking-“ he hisses under his breath. “...I need to go over there.”

“You need to rest your leg. Its fine, Jake, I’ll go and check on him again.”

“Krissy, I want to go over there. For me as much as for him,” his imploring gaze seems to persuade her just enough as she huffs in exasperation and pulls back out of the driveway. “Thank you, Kris.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

The drive is short, filled with short snippets of conversation, updates on their friends, on the search for Glenn and Ryan as far as the authorities would tell Krissy or Jake, meanwhile, Jake could feel the tension itching up his spine and pulling at the muscles in his thigh. The pain wasn’t enough to keep him inside the car once they finally made it to the apartment complex, no lights on.

“Want me to wait around?” she asks but Jake shakes his head, gesturing at the glaring red numbers on the dash, reminding them snidely of the late hour.

“Its nearly midnight. You head back to mine. If I need to, I’m sure Mitch’ll let me crash. Or I’ll get a cab,” he urges.

“…If you need to get home, call me and I’ll pick you up,” Jake agrees with her compromise with little hesitation, and no small amount of uncertainty about whether Mitch would let him stay if he asked. Or if he’d even open the door. Jake’s slow, limping pace to the front door is frustrating at the least but he eventually manages, rapping hard on the door.

No answer.

“Mitch. Its-…its me. Can you open up?”

Still silent.

Jake glances back at the driveway, seeing Krissy sitting in the idling car, waiting for him to turn and go back with her or for the door to open. He waves her off and she hesitates. But the car slowly rolls backwards and the lights grow fainter and fainter until he’s left in only the dim glow of the streetlamp just outside. No shadows shifting behind the curtain, so if Mitch is in, he’s doing his best to keep out of sight.

But Jake knows him.

He knows he’s terrible at hiding his spare key.

A minute or two of searching and he pulls the key out from a divot carved into the doorframe and the door opens without issue, clicking shut behind him as he makes his way inside. The hallway is dark and free of movement. He deposits the spare key in the bowl by the door, limping his way down the hall until he’s standing in the archway leading to the living room, his chest clenching at the sight he’s met with.

“The fuck have you done to yourself,” he murmurs.

Mitch is passed out on the couch, curled in on himself as small as he could go, dressed in only a pair of boxers, with an empty bottle of bourbon clutched in his hand. His skin is pale, emphasising the dark circles underneath his eyes and the sharp contrast of the beard that borders on unkempt.

Jake limps over to the couch, but before he can get close enough to touch, Mitch jerks upright, brandishing the bottle like a club while he looks around the room frantically. He finally manages to focus on Jake but only for a split second before he cast his gaze down at the carpet, the cloud of panic fading into confusion and, dare he say it.

Shame.

“What’re you doing here?”

His words are slurred, movements sluggish as he tries to sit himself upright in the couch. He seems to notice his state of undress but doesn’t do much about it beside pulling a light blanket over one leg. Even that he seemed to struggle with.

“I need a reason to see my friend?” Jake watches as Mitch tries to take another pull from the empty bottle, the furrow of his brow deepening when he realises there’s nothing left. The bottle makes a hollow thud against the carpet and Mitch struggles to his feet, stumbling ever so slightly on his way to the kitchen, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside.

“Mitch-“

“Go home, Jake,” the younger man turns to follow him, watching him try to open a new bottle of something, definitely glass and almost certainly alcoholic.

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“I said ‘go’,” the slurred words gain an edge to them but Mitch still refuses to look in Jake’s direction. He doesn’t think about moving until he’s already standing beside the taller man, pulling the bottle away just as he goes to drink.

“Hey-“

“That’s enough, Mitch,” Jake tries to empty the bottle out into the sink but before he knows it, a pair of hands shove him aside, ripping the bottle from his grasp. He puts his leg out to steady himself and it nearly buckles beneath him, pain screaming through the limb and forcing a choked gasp from his throat. His grip on the edge of the counter helps to distract him from the pulsing of blood in his ears and the horrendous pain wracking his body. As the white noise fades, he can hear Mitch, kneeling beside him and spewing a litany of apologies.

“I didn’t- I’m sorry, Jake. Fuck I’m so sorry, a-are you-“

“Stop.”

Jake’s hoarse command silences him and they’re left in the quiet and darkness of the kitchen. Jake can almost feel the warmth of Mitch’s hands as they hover uncertainly over his shoulder, not daring to touch quite yet. It takes a moment longer for the static of pain to clear and he’s able to form full sentences, turning his head just that little bit to look at Mitch’s face. His eyes are fixed firmly to the ground, unable to bear meeting Jake’s gaze.

“Mitch,” The man flinches as though Jake shouted instead of whispered, “Hey. Hey, look at me.” Mitchell’s head tilts up slowly, brown eyes still hazy, rimmed red and watery.

“I didn’t-“

“I know. I know. Just-…” Jake reaches out, pausing when Mitch jerks back, but he stills and allows Jake to make contact, warm fingers curling around the back of Mitch’s neck and pulling him in so their foreheads touch. A vivid flash of doing the same, bleeding and afraid in a shack, comes to mind but he forces it back as he feels the other man trembling beneath his light grip.

“No more, alright?” he breathes, feeling the brush of Mitch’s skin against his as he nods. “Come on, lets get you cleaned up.”

The bottle remains in the sink, its contents slowly pouring down the drain as Jake stands, with Mitch’s help, and they make their way to the bathroom.

The older man showers while Jake tidies up, putting the empty bottles in the recycling, moving to change the sheets on the bed but realising quickly that they’d yet to be slept in, still smelling of detergent and nothing.

“Its…Its too dark in here,” Mitch’s voice pulls Jake from his musings, a flush coming to his cheeks as he feels embarrassment well up in his chest at being caught smelling his friend’s sheets. Mitch doesn’t seem to pay it any mind. “Can’t sleep with the lights on but…Street lights,” he gestures towards the direction of the living room while he rubs a towel over his hair and bare chest.

“Didn’t think you’d slept at all,” Jake sighs, fixing the sheets again, limping over to the closet, searching for something inside.

“Not much. The alcohol helps. Helped,” he replies and when Jake turns around, another sheet in hand, he sees Mitch staring at his leg, looking away when he realises he’s been caught. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you in the hospital.”

“Its okay,” Jake’s voice is quiet as he moves about the room, switching the main lights off as he makes his way over to the beside and starts draping the sheet over the lamp on the side table. Mitch watches with at least a slightly more sober air to him, the towel resting loosely in his hands.

“Its really not. I fucked things up enough without…without leaving you alone.”

“You didn’t-“

“Please don’t-“ even in the darkness of the room, Jake can see the general twist of self-disgust in Mitch’s expression. “Don’t pretend I wasn’t the one to-to drag us off to chase fucking jets. If it wasn’t for me, Glenn and Ryan wouldn’t be fuck knows where and you-…” he lets out a shuddering sigh and curls in on himself, burying his face in his hands.

“I’m alive.”

“No thanks to me. _Fuck_ , I’m so sorry for everything Jake, for not listening to you, for the-the _shack_ , what I said-“

“Mitch.”

“I was gonna leave you there, I was gonna leave you to _die_.”

Jake turns and touches Mitch’s shoulder, quietly telling him to stop, to breathe, while Mitch’s hands cling to the end of Jake’s shirt, forehead pressing into his stomach as he apologises again and again. The words bleed together until its just incoherent sobbing, tears dampening Jake’s t-shirt while he cards his fingers through Mitch’s hair.

“I forgive you. Alright? If that’s what you need to hear, I forgive you. But I understand. You were scared, we all were. I-…I could never hold that against you,” his words a quiet, measured, and these seem calm Mitch at least a little so his grip loosens and the sobs lose their force, but the pair remain in contact, Jake’s fingers still winding through the dark, shower-damp hair. “Come one. Lie down.”

Mitch stiffens but he doesn’t pull away quite yet.

“What’s wrong?”

“…I can’t sleep here. The dark- I just keep seeing it. The fucking creatures, the shack. You-…” he murmurs, bringing Jake’s attention back to what he’d been doing earlier.

“Fuck, that’s- here,” Jake can’t move far, not with Mitch’s death grip he maintained on his shirt, but he can lean away just enough to reach under the sheet and flick on the lamp, a dull yellow glow cast around the room. Mitch lets out a shaky breath and a ‘thank you’, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“Any time, bud. Come on, its time to get some sleep,” Jake brushed back Mitch’s hair one more time before helping him get settled. Mitch’s hand curls around his wrist just as he goes to leave, holding him there with no real force.

“Can you…Will you stay? Please I-..“

“…Yeah. Yeah, o-okay,” Jake replies, limping over to the other side of the bed, lying on his good side so he’s facing Mitch. They lie together, the only sounds between them is their breathing and Mitch’s infrequent sniffles.

“I heard about Melissa. I’m sorry,” Jake whispers. Mitch shrugs beneath the covers.

“I knew she was seeing someone else. Didn’t think it was Ryan but…I expected it,” his tone bears no sign of anger or pain, just a quiet sort of introspection. “I mean…we sort of knew I wasn’t…I wasn’t _in it_. Just ‘cause I wasn’t sleeping with someone else doesn’t mean I was faithful,” he admits.

“You…you were-“

“In love with someone else. Yeah. I…I wasn’t gonna act on it. Never did. But I think she knew anyway.”

“Still a shithead move to sleep with your friend, even if…” Jake trails off, reaching out beneath the covers, blindly searching for Mitch’s hand. When he brushes against the warm skin, he curls his fingers around it firmly. “You gonna go for it? With the uh, with the other girl?”

Mitch doesn’t reply right away, brushing his thumb over Jake’s knuckles.

“I’m don’t think I’m their type.”

Jake’s heart stutters in his chest.

“…’Their’?”

Mitch doesn’t answer, he just holds Jake’s hand, blinking slowly as exhaustion creeps in.

“Mitch…what’re you-“

“Can we…Not tonight? I’ll…Not tonight,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and pressing their joined hands to his chest like a child does his favourite toy. Jake nods, giving Mitch’s hand a light squeeze before settling in to sleep, the exhaustion of the day making itself known.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two** _

Birds are the first thing Jake hears as he drifts into wakefulness, a light, muffled tweeting from outside that quickly fades into white noise as he takes in his surroundings. He’s, thankfully, not in the same hospital bed he’d been in for the past few days, surrounded instead by a familiar, earthy smell and the warm embrace of blankets.

And he realises he was woken by the soft caress of fingers through his hair. A barely-there touch just at his temple and forehead. He opens his eyes, blinking a few times to help clear the fog of sleep and he’s greeted by Mitch’s face, expression lax; peaceful. His brown eyes are half-open, looking just about to fall back asleep as he stares at nothing, one hand brushing through Jake’s hair.

The familiar smell makes sense now.

“Hey,” Jake breathes, his voice sleep-rough and low, as if anything louder than a whisper would break this tranquil moment between them.  
Mitch’s fingers stop their slow progress across his scalp, hesitating before removing themselves completely as Mitch’s cheeks colour ever so slightly.

“Morning. You want breakfast?”

Jake almost tells him he wants his hand back in his hair, for the soft scrape of his nails there and to drift back to sleep like that but he holds his tongue. Last night’s conversation may have been enlightening but the tension between them and the exhaustion still present on Mitch’s face didn’t lend itself to declaring any sort of feelings for him. Not while he’s still so fragile.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could eat.”

“Gotta head to the store. Didn’t do much shopping after we got back,” Mitch admits, pushing himself up into a sitting position, clutching his head and breathing deeply.

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah, just a hangover. I’ll be fine,” he murmurs, stumbling to his feet and into the bathroom. The tell-tale rattle of a pill bottle and the running of the faucet giving Jake an idea of what he’s doing just out of sight. When Mitch reappears, its with a water-and-towel reddened face, moving straight to the dresser, dragging out a pair of jeans and a navy tee with a band logo Jake vaguely recognised. He dressed quickly, glancing back at Jake as he sits down on the edge of the bed to pull on some socks. Its unfamiliar, the heavy atmosphere inhabiting the bedroom, with Jake lying in Mitch’s bed while Mitch gets ready to leave.

Something that is familiar about the situation sits strangely in Jake’s gut, a reminder of his mornings with Krissy before they’d separated. Watching her dress for work while he lazed in bed for a few moments longer. At this point, she’d lean across the covers and press a kiss to his lips, whispering goodbye and an ‘I love you’.  
He could see Mitch doing that in his mind’s eye but instead the man stands, pausing just at the edge of the bed, as if thinking the same thing as Jake before reconsidering.

“I’ll be back. You uh…you know where everything is,” he murmurs, turning away. Jake says a quiet ‘see you in a bit’, listening to the muffled rattle of keys and for the front door to close. Once he’s sure Mitch has left, he brings his hands to his face and digs his palms into his eyes until he sees white spots behind his closed eyelids.

“You fuckwit.”

-

Mitch is gone for close to two hours, returning with a few grocery bags, a bag of something greasy from the diner down the street, and a familiar white paper bag. The man’s jaw is clenched, looking far tenser than he had when he’d left, and too absorbed in the thoughts running around in his head to notice Jake had moved from the bedroom at first. He stalks into the kitchen, practically shoving the bags onto the counter before he hunches over it, fists white-knuckle tight against the faux-marble countertop, shoulders by his ears as he hangs his head and takes deep, measured breaths.  
He actually startles when he finally turns around and sees Jake sitting at the kitchen island, watching him, with a pencil in his hand and some loose pieces of notepaper he’d been sketching on.

“Everything okay?” Jake fiddles with the pencil, something to keep his hands occupied beyond reaching out to soothe the lines from the older man’s brow and the tight line of his lips. Mitch sighs and rubs at his face, nodding but it does little to convince Jake, which apparently shows.

“People. All just-…” he waves his arm out to the window as if the entire population of Avondale were hovering outside, waiting to crowd him. “They all think we just got lost in the fucking mountains. That Glenn and Ryan-…’Good job, Mitch. Brought Jake back mostly in one piece. Shame about Glenn and Ryan’. ‘Shame’,” he bites out, turning to put the groceries away.

“You did what you could.”

Mitch grits his teeth, gaze falling on the sink, where Jake can see the label of the bottle of whiskey peeking out. Still a few mouthfuls left in the bottle after being left open on its side. He stares at the bottle, as though trying to pull it closer with just his eyes but he catches Jake’s eye and looks down, shame colouring his cheeks.

“Sure,” There’s a few moments of tense silence between them, Mitch shifting his attention to the bags he’d brought back. He takes hold of the white paper bag, running his fingers over it for a moment, then passing it over. “Here. I uh, I stopped by your place. Krissy had your stuff from the hospital. Bandages and meds, I think.”  
Jake opens the bag, glancing at its contents briefly, then offers a small, grateful smile to Mitch.

“Thanks. You get something decent for food? I’m craving something in the fucking-awful-for-you food group,” he jokes, peering into the bag. Styrofoam and plastic containers that smell sickening and strangely delicious all at the same time.

“Just kinda waved at the board,” he answers, grabbing a bottle of hot sauce from the corner of the island, some plates and cutlery while Jake shuffles the containers around and opens them, picking out bits and pieces from each tray.  
The pair eat in relative silence, occasionally making eye contact and exchanging small half-hearted smiles.

“Krissy seems good. She came by…a couple times to, you know, check in.”

“Yeah she’s good.”

“…You guys…getting back together?”

“What-?” Jake leans back away from the counter with confusion plain on his features. “ _No_ , defin- no. We’re still just friends,” Jake’s denial is met with an awkward nod and gaping lack of eye contact from his friend. “We’re way better friends then we were a married couple. Its…we sorta figured out we both just wanted… _someone_. Not a good basis for a marriage.”

Mitch hums thoughtfully and keeps eating, more just picking at his food really, shuffling it around the plate as he tries to fill the silence with the clinking of his cutlery against the plate.

“Mitch. About last night,” Jake starts, but he see Mitch stand from the counter, collecting his dishes and rinsing them in the sink. “I think we should maybe talk about it some more-“

“I gotta head out. Gotta check in with my boss, let him know I’m still alive-“ he keeps his head down, putting the dishes in the rack and drying his hands while he completely ignores Jake’s voice and a swell of fearconcern _no_ rises in his chest.

“Mitch-“

“If you leave just lock up behind you,” he adds as he goes to walk by but Jake latches onto his wrist, not dragging him back but with the way Mitch freezes in his tracks, he might as well have.

“Mitchell. I’m-…I don’t know what you think I’m gonna do or say. But I promise its not as bad as you seem to think. So, we shared a bed, and-and you were scared and needed someone there, so what? It doesn’t have to be a Thing,” Jake tries to assuage the worry he can see building in Mitch’s shoulders but the words seem to have the opposite effect. He can feel the other man’s hand shaking beneath his fingers. “But…you want it to be. Don’t you.”  
Mitch is silent for a moment, testing the strength of Jake’s grip but never really allowing himself to break it.

“I’m sorry, Jake. You-…please let it go.”

“No.”

“ _Please_.”

Mitch won’t look at him, keeps his eyes trained firmly on the kitchen tiles as though he were being led to the executioner’s block instead of standing with one of his closest friends in his kitchen. Because he…what?

“I’m the other person, aren’t I. The reason you weren’t… _in it_ with Melissa,” Jake breathes and he can feel the tension spreading through Mitch’s body from here.

“Its-…like you said. It doesn’t have to be a Thing. I’ve accepted that you aren’t _like that_ , that I- we aren’t…I’m happy being your friend if that’s all I can be, so we don’t have to talk about this ever again-“

Mitch doesn’t stop talking until he feels Jake tugging at his wrist, to bring him closer. Even if Jake tried to move into Mitch’s view, to meet his gaze, the other man’s eyes were clenched shut, waiting for some finishing blow from Jake, ‘I think we shouldn’t be friends anymore’, ‘I could never be like _that_ ’.

“Can you look at me, please.”

Mitch forces himself to follow the request, slowly tracing his eyes up from Jake’s chest to his face, seeing…he’s not sure. Its soft, not the stony face of judgement he was expecting or the pity of ‘I’m sorry but-‘. Jake slides off the stool so he’s almost pressed against Mitch’s front as he looks down to their sides at the hand around Mitch’s wrist, drifting down until his fingers are skirting the edge of interlacing with his. Mitch can feel his heart freeze in his chest. Jake looks back up at Mitch as he tightens his hold, slotting their palms firmly together while he leans in, pausing just a few scant inches from Mitch’s lips.

“Don’t-…” Mitch pleads, fear and heartache loaded into every letter. “Don’t do this be-because I’m scared. O-or for pity. I’m okay with just being friends if that’s…” he lets out a wet sounding exhale, tears threatening to overpower him as hope and fear and _maybe_ war in his chest. Jake shakes his head, his free hand gripping Mitch’s bicep to steady the shaking.

“Well I’m not.”

He closes the distance and presses his lips to Mitch’s, hearing the heart-wrenching, utterly broken sound Mitch makes when they make contact. The older man’s free hand hovers over his waist, afraid to touch beyond what’s just been established, what he feels like he’s allowed, but want wins over fear and he curls his arm around Jake’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest as they drift back towards the counter. Jake can vaguely feel the countertop digging into his lower back but it’s a fuzzy, back-of-his-mind feeling in comparison to the overwhelming _please_ filtering in through the kiss.

When they finally separate after what feels like decades, Mitch rests his forehead against Jake’s, shaking in his arms.

“Please, please _please_ don’t be-…I can't-"

“It didn’t work with Krissy because I wanted _someone_. This will work because I want you.” Something pangs in Jake's chest at the pained sound escaping Mitch's throat, so he presses light, barely-there kisses to Mitch's cheeks and the corners of his lips, whispers of ‘it’s okay, I'm sure, I'm _sure_ ’.

The food goes cold as the pair wrap around each other in bed, Mitch curling into the space within Jake's arms while Jake runs his fingers over his arms and the sliver of skin between his shirt and the waistband of his jeans, a silent reassurance that he's there and that he will be for as long as Mitch will have him.

The unsaid _always_ warms the air between them more than the covers ever could.


End file.
